


Feather Blanket

by Pull



Series: Bird Encyclopedia [2]
Category: Gattaca (1997)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Basically everyone has wings, Gen, M/M, My take on the drunk scene, Only Vincent can see them, Somewhat fluff(?), They cuddle in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 05:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20040757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pull/pseuds/Pull
Summary: Eugene's wings felt so soft and smooth and strong and sturdy and warm and everything that is nice in this world and Vincent was sure he couldn't cut himself with the feathers even if he tries."I'm proud of you, Vincent."





	Feather Blanket

The only pair of wings he could ever touch in his life was his mother's wings.

He couldn't touch both his father's and his brother's wings. They went through his fingertips like air, as if there wasn't anything there. He didn't know why. He didn't know how. But as life went on, he could suspect a reason for it.

The time where he could touch his mother's wings was rare. Only when she hugged him really tight and kissed his forehead with tear-streaked eyes after Vincent had announced determinedly that he would someday fly up to the stars. Only in between the moment when she read him a bedtime story and ruffled his hair. Only when she patted his shoulder encouragingly after he got beaten up by Anton in their little games. After a while, he realized that the memory of feathers lightly tickling his fingertips was always accompanied by the soft warm touch of love.

On the first night he went away from home, he lied down under the starry sky and thought that his father and Anton never really love him all this time.

He wondered how his father's wings felt like. He imagined they would be strong and sturdy, but still contained the softness he felt on his mother's. He bet that Anton's wings were smooth and slick from the way the feather seemed to shine under the light. They looked sharp sometimes and Vincent wondered whether they could cut his skin or not.

Eugene's wings felt so soft and smooth and strong and sturdy and warm and everything that is nice in this world and Vincent was sure he couldn't cut himself with the feathers even if he tries.

"I'm proud of you, Vincent."

Eugene's eyes were impossibly bright as they stared at Vincent with a look he couldn't describe. There was definitely longing there. And sadness. The tight grip on his jacket loosen and Eugene finally let go as he plopped down back onto the sheets with a soft sigh.

"You must be drunk to call me Vincent," Vincent said, gazing down affectionately at Eugene. He should move away right then but he couldn't. Not when the Blue Jay's wings slowly moved to wrap around him, pulling him closer to the still form beneath. His own wings twitched as if they wanted to return the gesture.

Wings couldn't lie. Vincent did want to return the gesture. His broad brown wings wrapped protectively around both of their forms. He sighed. Eugene wanted this as much as him. There wasn't any use to lie when he could see the truth clearly.

He shrugged out of his jacket and remove his tie. Then he did the same to Eugene because he knew that sleeping in a suit wasn't comfortable at all. Eugene was a dead weight in his arms as he shrugged the jacket off. There was a soft murmur of gibberish and Vincent huffed out a soft laugh.

After that he lied down beside Eugene, watching the other man sleeping under the moonlight slithered from their window, letting both of their wings pulled them even closer. Vincent found peace in watching Eugene's chest move up and down, in tune with the soft melody of his breath. The same peace he found when he heard the steady sound of the strong heartbeat in his ears. It was somewhat reassuring.

At some point, Eugene's eyes cracked open and he turned to meet Vincent's gaze.

"You stay," he whispered, surprise colored his voice. Vincent smiled.

"Of course I do. Where do you think I'll go?"

Eugene shrugged. Vincent thought the other man was about to say "Your own bedroom, idiot" but what came out of Eugene's mouth was "Titan."

Vincent fell silent at that, a heavy feeling settled down in the pit of his stomach. Eugene continued to stare at him and then frowned, eyes moving from Vincent to—surprisingly—the adjoined wings covering both of their forms.

"Are these.. wings?" he asked, fingertips moving to caress the feather gently. The brown feather. Vincent's wings. "They are soft," he chuckled.

Vincent froze. He could feel Eugene's touch on his wings. As real as if they were his own limbs. It never happened before but it felt good because Vincent finally felt like he wasn't alone in this world. Because there's someone else who could see things that only he could see. It was proof that these things were as real as the existence of a human being and not merely the product of his imagination.

It felt nice not to be alone anymore.

"This blue one is pretty," Eugene continued to say, studying his own wings with wild fascination. "Wait, are they mine?"

"Yes," Vincent answered, still in shock to say anything else.

"You never told me that I have wings—" Eugene suddenly cut himself off as if he had just realized something. He shook his head. "You know what, you don't have to play by my drunk rules. These are feathers blanket, right? Real wings are cooler but it's okay. I understand."

Well, Vincent didn't know what feather blanket would look like and Eugene certainly didn't understand anything, but he would say nothing about it. And he definitely wasn't playing with the other man's drunk rule but now that Eugene mentioned it, he would exactly do like that.

"Yes Eugene, they are feather blanket."

Eugene grinned in triumph as if he had just won a bet. "See? I'm sober even when I'm drunk."

Vincent wanted to deny that. But before he could make any comment, Eugene suddenly turned to face him and snuggled closer, grabbed his clothes and almost burying his face in Vincent's chest.

"It's warm. It feels nice," he whispered. "Night, Vincent."

The other man fell asleep right after that. Vincent smiled softly and draped his arm somewhat awkwardly over Eugene's side.

"Goodnight, Eugene."

* * *

Vincent woke up to an empty bed that was certainly not his and a very undignified—and rather disturbing—sound coming from the bathroom. The cover beside him was crumpled and the wheelchair was surprisingly empty, though the spot on the bed was still warm as he dipped his hand onto the sheets.

It was five in the morning, the usual time Vincent woke up because unfortunately, becoming Jerome was a very long and exhausting process. He scrubbed his eyes, trying to clear his vision. There was a light coming through the slight opening of the bathroom door. He could vaguely make out a figure kneeling on the floor.

"Eugene?" he called out. No response except the intensifying sound of regurgitation.

Vincent yawned and slowly made his way to the bathroom. He pushed the door wider and was instantly greeted by Eugene's miserable form kneeling in front of the toilet, head ducked inside the bowl. His body convulsed as another bile of liquid was forced out of his throat.

Vincent sighed. "You look horrible."

There was a groan before Eugene lifted his head, a little bit of saliva clinging to the corner of his mouth. Even with his current condition right now, he still had a dignity to glare at Vincent.

"You look like _me_," he gritted out before he was forced to duck his head down again.

"I'm not the one with my head inside a toilet bowl," Vincent replied exasperatedly. He made his way towards Eugene and kneeled beside him, hands rubbing his back gently up and down. The Blue Jay's wings going through his skin as if they were holograms. "You drank too much."

"Not too much, mind you. This is a considerable amount—" Eugene cut himself off as he threw up again. "Anyway, remind me again who offered alcohol to me last night?"

"I offered you a glass. You offered me to get drunk."

"Yet, you didn't say no."

Vincent rolled his eyes though he had to give it to Eugene for maintaining a conversation despite the state he was in. "I'm going to get water," he said. There wasn't any reply so he just left Eugene to his device.

When he was back with a glass of water in his hands, Eugene was slumped bonelessly over the toilet, wings draped loosely around his form like a blanket. Vincent thought he looked like a fallen angel recovering from a heavy hungover—though the latter part was actually true—beautiful but ridiculous in so many ways.

Eugene titled his head. His arms were the only thing that separated his cheek from direct contact with the seat, which had been in direct contact with his own ass so many times in the past. It felt disgusting in some way, but considering only a moment ago he was putting his face a mere centimeter from the place his own shit had touched, he decided he didn't care anymore.

Vincent handed him the water and Eugene took it gratefully. He drank it all in one gulp.

"Thank you," he said, handing the empty glass back to Vincent. His voice sounded less scratchy now and his eyes were clearer, though his skin was still a bit too pale. "By the way, did we have sex last night?"

Vincent blinked. "What?"

"I say, did we have sex last night?"

"W-What? Of course not!" he sputtered, a blush creeping up his cheeks. "Where did that come from?"

Eugene shrugged. "Well, do you have another reason why you slept on my bed last night?"

Vincent stilled. Oh, _that_.

"D-Do you see something on my back?" he asked, gesturing helplessly to his backside. Eugene raised his eyebrows.

"You mean your clothes?"

Vincent dropped his hands. "..Never mind."

It was obvious that Eugene couldn't see the wings. Now it was up to Vincent to explain the whole ordeal without mentioning them. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Unsure on how to choose his words.

_I saw your wings curled around you every time I have to put you to bed because you were too drunk to do it yourself,_ he wanted to say. _Your wings pulled me close. You asked me to stay. How could I deny that?_ He thought.

_I don't want you to be alone._

"Earth to Vincent, you there?" Eugene called as he snapped his fingers, trying to wake Vincent up from his daze. "You haven't gone up to the stars, have you? Why bother using my gene if your head could fly itself up, then."

Vincent blinked again. Once, twice. "Look, I—" he started. "I was too tired, okay? You gripped my jacket and wouldn't let go. So I just flopped down next to you. Not my fault."

Eugene hummed. "You took off my jacket."

"W-Well, I was being a good friend," Vincent countered. "You should thank me."

"Yeah?" Eugene lifted his head and smirked. "A pity. I am very good in bed, you know."

Vincent rolled his eyes. The thing is, Eugene was fed up with people tiptoeing around him, treating him as if he was fragile, too afraid to even broach the subject of his disabilities. They wouldn't even _glance_ at his legs. And Vincent—Vincent was too tired of the fake formality people had to perform around each other on daily basis.

They had no qualms in throwing sarcasm at each other, insulting each other's weakness right on the face. It may feel like hate for the first time, but later on, Vincent found himself most relaxed around Eugene presences.

So he didn't even hesitate when he said, "I'm sure you _were,_" to Eugene, didn't even bother to mask his insult about the other man's disability. Meanwhile Eugene—he chuckled.

"I mean it," he said. "My visitors always left with a very pleased face."

"Your _paid_ visitors. And I'm actually the one who do the paying," Vincent replied. "And of course they are happy. I have to pay them good money because they have to do all the works. And I wonder why you even bother hiring them, you can't even get _it_ up—ow!"

There was a roll of paper towel bounced off his head. Vincent picked up the object where it landed near his feet and threw an unimpressed look at Eugene.

"This is a very childish way to end a conversation."

"Don't you have your work to do?"

"Oh fine," Vincent said. He didn't throw the paper towel back to Eugene—even though the temptation was too sweet—instead, he hung it back to its proper place on the wall. Because he was a good friend and the one who had more morals between them and Eugene was the more asshole one.

Still, Vincent was no saint. He was also an asshole. That's why he said, "I'm not picking you up to your chair," and proceed to leave the other man on the floor.

There was a snort behind him. Then, Eugene called.

"Go on, I'm not an Invalid."

* * *

It was later in the evening, where Vincent had come home and was too tired to do anything but lounging on the long chair near the stairs. Eugene was in the make-shift lab, bored out of his mind as he kept blowing a surgical glove, trying to make a small balloon out of it. All of a sudden, he looked up as if he just remembered something and turned to Vincent.

"Do we have feather blanket?"

There was a heavy pause in the air and Vincent stiffened. "No," he said, voice surprisingly flat. "Why do you ask?"

"Just remember something," Eugene replied. "What about any garment made of feather. Do we have those?"

"We don't."

"Really?" he questioned. "I'm sure I touched feathers last night—well, something with feather. Brown and blue."

"You were drunk," Vincent pointed out.

"Fair point," Eugene shrugged and went back to do whatever he was doing before. "I swear it felt so real, though," he muttered. Vincent didn’t answer. The conversation ended at that.


End file.
